


Purgatory, you have no idea!

by millygal



Series: Season 13 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Season Twelve End Of Spoilers, Vicious Imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: “Oh you have got to be bloody kidding me. I sacrifice myself for those two moronic Mummy and Daddy issue sufferers, and I get stuck down here with him! Chuck is a cruel prick with a sick sense of humour.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JJ1564](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/gifts), [siennavie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/gifts).



> Thank you to my beautiful amazing beta jj1564 and thank you to stir_of_echoes for her unending patience with my Crowstiel obsession and actually braving reading every single one. Bb's I love you both! Written for jj1564 and siennavie's prompts on my entry for the I Wish Meme ;) This is left where it's left because I am hoping to continue it! I want to create kind of my own S13 ;)

_dripdripdrip_

Crowley’s fairly bloody sure that he was meant to have been erased from existence.

Do not pass go, do not collect a sodding medal for sacrificing himself in the name of stopping that tosspot Archangel with a giant chip on his shoulder and a serious superiority complex.

So _why_ is something damp, disgusting and fetid sliding sickenly slowly across his cheek?

Still trying to figure out exactly _how_ he has a head to feel like it’s being mined by Snow White’s lesser-known dwarf companion - Angry, and not afraid to show it - Crowley attempts to peel one grime encrusted eyelid up, and is instantly hit by a pain searing enough to want to make him slam his forehead into the ground repeatedly until his face resembles ground beef.

Groaning, and trying not to throw up his borrowed intestines, Crowley forces his eyes open and is met with a sight that makes him wish he **had** been obliterated from the universe.

Surrounded by a horde of mouth-breathing Vampires, all licking their lips and eyeing him like someone just shouted, “Soup’s on!”, Crowley shakes his head and rolls his eyes before wiping the trails of Fang drool from his face. “Seriously, people, really? I assume this is Purgatory, and I know that it can bugger up a creatures’ higher functions, but Demons don’t have flowing blood. A single nip of me and you’d be on your arses and clawing your own eyeballs out.”

Despite the perfectly simple logic being presented to them, the Vampires don’t look as if they’re in any particular hurry to disperse, and Crowley’s about to try and raise a little _King of Hell_ mojo, when he spots a familiar tan trench coat covered lump laying only a few feet away. “Oh you have got to be bloody kidding me. I sacrifice myself for those two moronic Mummy and Daddy issue sufferers, and I get stuck down here with _him_! Chuck is a cruel prick with a sick sense of humour.”

The crumpled pile of Columbo overcoat groans and shudders before rolling over.

Castiel’s eyes are red ringed, his cheeks are sallow, and he’s in desperate need of a shave, but he’s definitely still _Castiel_ because the look he shoots Crowley is one of utter disdain.

Top lip quirked upwards, voice almost a growl, Castiel tries to ignore the group of Vampires murmuring and shooting them hungry glances. “So, you actually did it, you actually put someone else first?”

“Bite me, Asstiel!”

Castiel flicks his eyes upwards and tuts at Crowley, who knows exactly what he’s just said. “Wrong choice of words, perhaps, your _Majesty_?”

Crowley does absolutely nothing to cover over his amusement at Castiel’s head shaking and eye rolling, but he does discreetly use the distraction and the Vampires confusion to reach out and clasp the Angel’s hand, only for said Angel to look at him like he’s grown an extra head, and try to pull away.

“Wha - ?”

Crowley refuses to let go of Castiel’s fingers and marvels at his complete lack of functioning brain cells.

Voice dropping to a whisper, Crowley leans back and tugs, hard. “A little tag team smiting might not be such a bad idea, oh almighty and powerful Angel of the _Lord_.”

It’s embarrassing how easily Crowley can get a rise out of Castiel, but the imminent chomping by ten Vampires all now slathering and closing in tightly around the floored pair, stops Castiel from voicing his annoyance at the King of Douchery.

Castiel drags himself onto his haunches. “One.”

Crowley uses Castiel’s weight to pull himself off the ground. “Two.”

Together, the Angel and Demon straighten and face the Vampires spitting and snarling at them. “THREE!”

Fingers still entwined, Castiel and Crowley throw their heads back and channel their separate powers, allowing the light and dark to flow from one being to another until there’s a vacuum of sound, only broken by one of the Vampires lunging forward and snapping at Crowley’s neck.

Just as it’s about to get a mouthful of Crowley, the Vampire explodes in a shower of ash and oozing innards. One by one the rest of the pack disintegrate into a mist of throat clogging, eye stinging foulness, bathing Castiel and Crowley in a fine mist of grossness neither one will be able to scrub away anytime soon.

As the last Vampire implodes in on itself, screeching and clawing at its throat, Castiel flings himself away from Crowley, dropping his hand like he’s been scorched.

Crowley’s all set to make some asinine comment about Castiel being way too sensitive and masking some deep seated need for physical contact with the King of Cool, when his palm suddenly starts burning, like it’s literally on fire. Howling and gripping his wrist, the Demon stares at his hand and watches as an arcane symbol burns itself into his flesh. “FUCK, What did you **DO**?”


	2. Chapter 2

“FUCK, What did you **DO**?”

Crowley was never exactly a slouch in the powers department, even before he was handed the keys to Hell. He’s always been a formidable foe and a fucking evil bastard. The bored accountant persona has served him extremely well over the years, it’s afforded him chance to sneak in and get close to his enemies without raising too many red flags, but it’s all a smoke screen.

So, watching the Demon hopping around like a headless chicken - squeaking and squealing and blowing on his palm as if _that_ will stop the pain and sickening crackling sound of his skin literally peeling away - as his eyes glow red and his face contorts into that of a man on the rack, is some what surreal, and not a little disturbing, for Castiel.

Gritting his teeth against the agony of his own flesh being branded by some unseen hand, Castiel looks on, fascinated, when Crowley suddenly stops hopping up and down and curls in on himself.

A weight like a lodestone lands on Crowley’s shoulders and forces him to the floor; knees buckled, chin pinned to his chest, long-dead heart thumping wildly behind his ribs.

Crowley’s entire body is on fire. Flames lick at his flesh like an eager lover, caressing him from head to toe, leaving a throbbing ache in their wake.

Where a moment ago he was quite capable of screaming like a little girl - and to his shame was doing exactly that - now Crowley can’t move, can’t even raise his head to point pleading eyes at his Angel companion who steps forward, lays a hand upon his shoulder and shakes him violently.

“Crowley, _Crowley_!”

The only sound now coming from the Demon is a pathetic whimpering, like a kicked kitten, and as much as Castiel has always maintained his disdain and hatred for the creature now bent double at his feet, the sight of it is stomach churning.

Crouching down beside Crowley, Castiel whispers in his ear. “Hold on,”

Closing his eyes and praying, Castiel feels out the centre of his powers, the thing that heals and helps keep him upright on a daily basis; his Grace.

Forcing it from his body, tasting it on the tip of his tongue, focusing on Crowley’s pain, Castiel allows the shimmering light of his Grace to encircle them both, creating a numbing barrier between the Demon and whatever has invaded his borrowed body.

As Castiel tips his chin and rests his forehead against Crowley’s, the pain of Crowley’s flesh being boiled off his bones ebbs away.

It’s as if a river of cooling spring water has cascaded over Crowley, putting out the flames threatening to consume him, and leaving a gentle tingling behind.

Despite the fact that Crowley doesn’t technically need to breathe, he drags down lungfuls of air, gulps it in and almost chokes. Coughing and spluttering and falling backwards away from Castiel who’s now curling himself into a sitting position, Crowley wipes the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth and spits into the dirt. “Wh-wh-what, the actual f-fuck, was that?”

Castiel tips his head and raises one eyebrow. “I do not know, but, we need to move. Our presence here will not go unnoticed for long.”

Crowley’s propped up on one elbow and staring at Castiel like there’s a hole in his marble bag. “Did you - did you just - was that your Grace?”

Castiel nods once before flicking his eyes around the clearing they’re sat in, searching out any imminent threats. “Hmm, yes.”

“And you, did you - “

Castiel’s not exactly comfortable with the distinct sound of awe in Crowley’s voice, and judging by the clearing of the Demon’s throat, neither is he, but where usually there would be a stinging remark about being amazed he could _get it up_ , there’s nothing. No harsh comments, no sarcasm dripping from every word, just genuine curiosity and gratitude.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Crowley reaches out and grabs Castiel’s wrist. “Seriously, Feathers, did you just _heal_ me, or whatever?”

Sighing and shaking his head, Castiel ignores the spark of something warm travelling along the arm Crowley’s tugging on, and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Yes, Crowley. I used my Grace to expel whatever was causing you _pain_. Can we please move on?”

As Castiel avoids Crowley’s eyes, he scrapes his free hand through his already messy hair, and hisses.

The sound makes Crowley raise his head and he almost falls back into the dirt.

There, on Castiel’s palm, etched out in burned skin, is the exact same symbol that’s now tattooed onto his own hand. Letting Castiel’s wrist fall from his fingers, Crowley reaches out and snatches the Angel’s other hand from the side of his head and practically drags him into his lap. “No, really, Feathers, what did you **do**? And how come I ended up being truly arse invaded by whatever that was, but you, you got away with a light spanking?”

Castiel groans and makes to yank his hand away from Crowley but is refused freedom by the Demon’s iron grip. “I did not do _anything_. Why do you automatically assume it was me that did this? You are the King of Hell, and a son of a witch, this is far more likely to be your fault. We should not even **be** in Purgatory, what did you put in that spell?”

Crowley ignores Castiel’s waffling diatribe and runs a finger tip along the edge of the symbol, traces it with one perfectly manicured nail. He brings his thumb up to wipe across Castiel’s palm and is hit with a not unpleasant jolt of electricity that seems to crackle between them; it flickers from Crowley’s hand to Castiel’s and at first he thinks he’s imagining the fact he can actually _see_ it but Castiel’s sharp intake of breath and sudden silence tells him he isn’t losing what’s left of his mind.

Castiel’s skin is _singing_.

There’s no other way to describe the feel of heat dancing along his veins, or the way in which his fingers automatically want to curl around Crowley’s and never let go.

Clearing his throat and shaking himself, Castiel rises and pulls away from Crowley’s touch, effectively severing whatever is creating this unholy connection to the abomination who is currently quirking it’s eyebrow and smirking up at him.

“What’s wrong, Wings?”

Castiel’s about to tell Crowley to go screw himself, when he hears a low rumble coming from somewhere in the shadows now crowding into the clearing. “Move!”


	3. Chapter 3

They’ve been running forever.

A millennia of clawing and scraping his way out from underneath Lilith and Azazel’s boots seems like a walk in the park to Crowley, compared to the foulness that keeps throwing itself at the Angel and Demon every time they _think_ they’re free and clear and have enough time to try and breathe.

“Feathers, duck!”

Castiel makes a possibly fatal mistake as he swings his head towards Crowley’s voice and is taken down by what can only be described as an amalgamation of a Rougarou and a Werewolf. The thing now snapping at Castiel’s face and leaving stinging trails of saliva snaking down his throat has the snout of a wolf, the claws and ears of a Rougarou, and the stench of something that died over a decade ago but just hasn’t laid down yet. “CROWLEY!”

Whilst Castiel’s fighting with the thing now trying to take a sizable chunk out of his chest, Crowley slams his hands on his knees and drags in as much air as he can before straightening up and shaking his head. “For an Angel, you are one of the most moronic beings I have ever had the displeasure to - “

“Crowley stop being a dick and kill it!”

“I maintain, you’ve been spending far too much time with Tweedle Dee and Dumbfuck. Dick? Really?” Crowley steps up behind the beast still thrashing, clawing and snarling, and peers over its shoulder at Castiel whose face is contorted with the effort not to become this diabolical creatures’ dinner. “Is that _any way_ for an Angel to be speaking?”

Castiel growls at Crowley, almost forgetting he’s meant to be fighting for his life, and ends up sporting an impressive looking slash across his cheek.

The sound of Castiel’s skin being shredded creates a rage inside Crowley, one he doesn’t understand and has no clue how to turn the fuck off, but it forces him into action.

Where Crowley, a moment ago, was taking great pleasure in Castiel’s pain, now his lips twist up into a snarl and he raises his hand before clicking his fingers, obliterating the creature and showering Castiel in thick, black, foul-smelling blood.

Castiel ignores the ever present crackling hum flickering along his skin whenever Crowley does anything remotely _nice_ for him. Nice in this instance being the killing of something that wanted to **eat** him, and slams his head back into the ooze saturated dirt. “We have got to get out of here.”

Crowley rolls his eyes and reaches down, hooks both hands beneath Castiel’s arms and yanks him to his feet. “As always, oh master of the bloody obvious, you speak such words of wisdom. How exactly are we meant to get out of here?! Your vessel has an Angel blade embedded in it and is more than likely already a crispy critter if Samantha and Deanna’s track record is anything to go by, and mine, well fuck knows how exactly I look like me because I’m pretty sure I got exploded trying to take out that arsehole Lucifer.”

Castiel rocks on his feet and uses Crowley’s sturdy form at his back to stop himself crumpling back to the ground, but is hit by a, now familiar, zap of electricity when Crowley leans in close and whispers into his ear.

“Seriously, Wings, any and all ideas gratefully received at this point.”

Castiel clearing his throat and hastily pulling away isn’t lost on the Crowley. Nor is the all over body shiver he’s unsuccessfully trying to mask. Crowley can feel whatever this _thing_ is between them, but for now, he’s content to use it to make Castiel as uncomfortable as possible.

He is most definitely **not** _enjoying_ the way his body seems to crackle every time Castiel’s within touching distance, and he certainly isn’t relishing the actual physical contact that seems to bring on near orgasmic shudders, not at _all_.

Oh, who is he fucking kidding?

For some unknown reason they’ve been branded as partners, and every time one of them does anything un-arseholish for the other, the connection seems to strengthen, and Crowley can’t actually find the words to describe how much he both hates and is intrigued as hell by the idea.

Yep, Chuck is a twat, no doubt.

Castiel finally manages to step out of the circle of Crowley’s arms and turns to face his unlikely companion. “We need to try and find shelter for tonight. I can not keep using my powers, I am running on fumes, and I know every time you use yours it saps your energy. Another fight tonight may finish both of us off.”

Castiel’s resolute refusal to acknowledge out loud whatever this is, whatever’s making both their brands itch, is pissing Crowley off to no end and it’s without any forethought Crowley steps in close enough to scent Castiel’s Angelic presence.

Castiel’s power washes over Crowley, making him swallow and cough. “Got an overwhelming urge to shack up for the night, huh? I knew you loved me.”


	4. Chapter 4

The nights in Purgatory are darker, longer, and colder than any night Castiel’s spent anywhere else. The sounds in the shadows speak of vicious and bloody death, and even though he’s so old he almost remembers the _beginning_ , he’s afraid. He’s genuinely afraid they may never make it out of this literally god forsaken place.

Sitting hunched underneath a rudimentary shelter made of twigs and vines, held together by sheer willpower and dumb luck, Castiel watches Crowley sleep. He watches the play of emotions allowed their freedom whilst the Demon has no control over who sees what, and how they perceive him.

For years, too many years to count, he’s hated that creature. Wanted to pull him to pieces and scatter him to the four corners of the cosmos, and yet, now, watching his face twist into that of a man who has no clue how to get out of his own personal hell, Castiel feels an overwhelming urge to comfort him. To reach out and lay a calming palm on his chest, to dispel the nightmares making his eyes roll beneath their lids.

He’s halfway to doing just that when the brand on his palm begins to tingle and glow, emanating a faint light, forcing back the shadows, and Castiel bites back the urge to _touch_. Pulling away, the light fades. The tingle remains but the light disappears completely, blanketing them both in the gathering darkness.

Crowley stirs, stops twitching in his sleep and blinks blearily into the darkness as his eyes struggle to adjust to their surroundings. “Wings?”

Castiel coughs and nods, even though he knows Crowley can’t actually see him. “I am here.”

Crowley’s not sure what dragged him from his nightmares, but he’s almost certain it’s got something to do with the tone in Castiel’s voice. Shaking his head and pulling himself up into a sitting position, Crowley reaches out and comes into contact with Castiel’s bent knee.

Giving the Angel’s leg a hard squeeze, Crowley is shocked at the sudden sense of wholeness that overtakes him, which is when he has to let go of Castiel because the brand on his hand begins to glow, bright and pulsing; forcing the shadows to abate long enough for him to see the look of pure fear plastered across Castiel’s face. “That’s new.”

Crowley’s blase tone irritates Castiel, irritates him so much he forms a fist and pulls his arm back. He has no control over his emotions where the Demon is concerned and he doesn’t even really know he’s doing it until he lashes out and lands a hard punch on Crowley’s cheek.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?”

“Keep your damned voice down.”

Crowley snarls and launches himself at Castiel. Fingers forming claws, nails digging into the still raw slash on Castiel’s cheek, Crowley scrapes them downwards, opening up the wound. Thick red blood seeps from the cut, snakes its way down Castiel’s face and pools on his chin and drips onto his bent knees.

Castiel’s so taken aback by Crowley’s actions he doesn’t have time to dodge the Demon as he lunges forward and latches onto the weeping wound, sucking and licking the droplets of blood from Castiel’s face.

Crowley’s body hums, the blood flowing from Castiel’s flesh onto his lapping tongue creates some kind of chemical reaction and he instantly feels more _real_ , more present.

The power in Castiel’s blood seeps into Crowley’s system and he can’t control his visceral reaction. His cock’s hard enough to knock nails in with and he’s actually dry humping Castiel’s leg. Like a horny teenager in the back of some god awful muscle car on a dirt track in the middle of nowhere.

Crowley growls and curls himself around Castiel who’s torn between struggling free and returning the favour.

Castiel roars like a wounded animal and shoves Crowley off him, scrambles backwards, and puts as much physical distance between them as possible. “Get away from me, you - you absolute abomination!”

Right now Crowley has two distinct trains of thought running through his mind.

One: Shame. Shame at allowing his baser instincts to win out. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t dain to even _look_ at Castiel with anything other than disgust, but this place and that fucking **thing** on his hand are addling his brain.

Two: **Mine**. For everything he feels about the Angel now scrubbing at his gaping cheek and practically heaving into the dirt, Crowley _knows_ that Castiel is his.

Castiel’s still spitting into the dirt and shuddering at the thought of having Crowley’s mouth anywhere near him when the brand on his hand starts to sting and burn, forcing his thoughts into sharp focus and dredging up the reality of his emotions.

**Yours**.

“Oh god, no.”

A voice in the back of his head starts whispering to Castiel, telling him he’s a fool to deny it, he should just allow it to happen, for Crowley to claim him.

It’s with genuine terror at that prospect that Castiel leaps to his feet and runs, turns his back to Crowley, who’s shouting and screaming at him to stop before he gets himself killed, and pumps his legs as hard as he can.

Crowley pounds his fists into the ground, forcing clouds of dust into the air, as Castiel flees into the darkest night either of them have ever lived through. “Come back you fucking idiot!”


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley’s so busy cursing Castiel out for his stupidity and stubbornness that he doesn’t hear the creature creeping up behind him.

Sat alone and frustrated underneath their makeshift shack, Crowley shakes his head and wishes ugly death on the Angel for being too much of a bloody coward to face whatever this is between them, when he’s shoved onto his face. Drowning in dirt and dust that’s being forced up his nose, whilst something with claws sharp enough to slice thin air digs itself into his back.

The scent of rancid rotting meat huffs across Crowley’s cheek and he thinks this might just be the very last thing he ever smells, or feels.

Death in Purgatory is permanent. There’s no hereafter for demons and denizens of the devil, none but _this_ one.

Purgatory is the very last place you’ll see any kind of sunrise and Crowley almost welcomes the idea of oblivion. After so many centuries dragging himself from the muck, onto the throne built of bones and broken promises, he’s actually quite looking forward to never having to struggle to stay afloat, again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel has no clue how far from the shelter he is, but he’s finally run out of steam and is ambling slowly in the darkness, considering the fact he might actually _be_ the moron Crowley keeps accusing him of being.

What possessed him to make a break for freedom into the monster infested wilds of a Purgatory night, Castiel hasn’t a clue, he just knows he thinks clearer without Crowley’s presence complicating matters.

He should know better, having had to survive here for a year once already, and yet the prospect of death via something that creeps and crawls in the night is nothing compared to the thought that he and Crowley are connected by this damned thing on his hand.

Is it just the brand, though?

For a long time they’ve had an uneasy truce, a companionship of sorts.

What is it the Demon calls it, being Winchestered?

The cruelty in that statement isn’t true, because Sam and Dean have never actively sought out a way to fuck over their friends, but whilst Castiel searched for the Devil’s spawn, Crowley alone was the one who accompanied him on his quest. Kept him safe and alive and capable of fulfilling his self appointed duty.

The thought of Crowley alone under that shelter makes Castiel double over, clutching his stomach and wincing against the stabbing pain forcing it’s way in between his ribs.

As an invisible knife tip tickles at his un-beating heart, Castiel feels a very _real_ stab of agony shoot through his back. A many-pronged blade shreds him just below the shoulders and throws him off his feet, face first into the muck and dust of the always blood saturated ground.

Pushing back against an unknown foe, Castiel slams his palms flat into the ground and it’s then the symbol on his hand starts to pulse red and feel like someone’s stripping his flesh from his bones. “Crowley?”

Shoving up against something that’s not there, Castiel struggles to his feet and turns, pounding out the distance separating him and Crowley, who’s clearly in _serious_ danger.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley spits blood and mucus into the dirt as his back is shredded, talons ripping through his coat and dress shirt like pieces of tissue paper, and he thinks if this _is_ his end, at least he’s going out in style.

He lets his eyes drift closed and grits his teeth against the feel of fluid filling his lungs, when he hears an almighty shout, a roar, one that brings sharpness and clarity to his mind.

“Fight, you fool, **fight**.”

Crowley’s hand burns, it’s bathed in white hot embers, and he knows what Castiel expects of him, but he’s too tired. Too ready for it all to end. One disaster after another after another, and centuries of fighting for what he _thought_ he deserved, and he’s completely done.

Tongue coated in blood, Crowley manages to turn his head and look Castiel dead in the eyes. “ _No_.”

There’s a bubble of something surrounding them both, disbelief perhaps, at Crowley’s lack of fight and Castiel actually giving a shit about it.

The creature continues to dig into Crowley’s back, exposes sinew and muscle, and buries its snout even further between the Demon’s shuddering shoulder blades, and it’s as he _wishes_ for death that Castiel starts spitting blood.

It burbles up, froths on his tongue and spills from his mouth, coating his chin and chest. “Please.”

Crowley’s still aware, the Demon in him refusing to allow his body to give out quite so easily, and he watches, horrified, as Castiel starts to convulse on the spot before hacking up great gooey globs of blood and saliva.

“ _Cas_?”

Castiel fights the pain in his body, the agony that’s pinning him in place, and stumbles forward. He makes it to within six inches of Crowley’s devastated body before he too is lying on the ground, twitching and shuddering like someone’s digging a blade in his back and twisting.

It’s a fucking weird sensation; air entering your lungs via the wrong route, but Crowley grits his teeth against the sting of it and digs his now ragged nails into the dirt. Pulling his hand towards Castiel, whose arm is flailing centimeters from his face, Crowley manages to wrap gnarled fingers around Castiel’s hand and yank, hard. “Cas, stay, _please_.”

As Castiel’s continues to throw up what seems like a river of blood, Crowley thinks this must be what it felt like every time he sent Juliet to eat someone alive.  
Castiel’s almost done, his body feels broken and his lungs are full of his own blood, but he uses everything he has to squeeze Crowley’s hand, once.

Castiel grips Crowley’s fingers and exhales so loudly, the Demon fears the Angel has beat him to the punch, that he’ll die alone with the image of his _friend_ laid out next to him, etched into his eyelids.

A wind so fierce and fast begins to whip around Crowley and Castiel, that it cuts straight through them. Like a thousand tiny razor blades all slashing them at once. The sound of the wind gains volume and intensity and the monster - snout still buried in Crowley’s back - lifts its head and keens.

Hands still clasped, Crowley and Castiel watch through hooded eyes as a roiling red smoke, peppered with incandescent, billows up around them.

Crowley can’t see anything, but he can feel the weight of the thing trying to devour him being lifted. It just disappears as if it were never there, and it’s then that Castiel curls around Crowley’s arm and begins to weep.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel _must_ be dead.

If not for the burning in his chest and the agony in his back, he would swear he _was_ dead. Again.

The sensation of Crowley’s life force slowly ebbing away, seeping into the ground along with his blood, brings Castiel back to himself, forces some kind of awareness in around the edges of the pain still threatening to end him.

Crowley’s laying _so_ close Castiel can smell death, smell the beginnings of his vessel rotting where it lays. He watches, heart in his throat, as Crowley’s eyeballs roll up, flashing the whites of them, and it drags him to his knees.

Sheer bloody mindedness makes Castiel close the small gap between him and Crowley and hover unsteadily over his ruined vessel.

Taking as deep a breath as his aching chest will allow, Castiel shoves both hands into the mess that was Crowley’s back and starts mumbling words in Enochian. The effort to remain upright is sapping what little energy he has and he sways above Crowley, but he refuses to give in until he sees the flesh around his wrists begin to knit itself together.

Pulling his fingers from inside Crowley, Castiel continues his entreaty in Enochian, whispering and swaying until he can see fresh, clean, pink flesh covering the Demon’s shoulders.

Finally, after the last wound is stitched together, Castiel collapses across Crowley and passes out.

Crowley comes awake as Castiel’s weight thumps into him, flattens him even further into the ground, and he’s amazed he can form thoughts let alone shout, “OUCH!”, at the top of his lungs. It takes him a while of experimenting breathing in and out, but Crowley eventually realises he’s not losing vital fluids from every orifice and the weight on his back is that of the Angel who’s clearly just saved his life. “Feathers?”

Nothing.

No response, or shitty remarks or snarky attitude filled sarcasm.

Just the empty sound of silence battering Crowley on all sides, making him fear that he may never hear the Angel’s asinine comebacks, again.

Struggling beneath Castiel, Crowley manages to turn without throwing the Angel onto the ground. Still expecting to feel his ruined back scraping against the gravel and dirt, Crowley holds his breath. When the pain doesn’t come he finds himself studying the top of Castiel’s head and smiling ever so slightly. “I knew you _liked_ me.”

Shuffling and grunting from the effort, Crowley drags himself into a sitting position and Castiel into his lap, before stroking the Angel’s messy dust encrusted hair.

Hoping against hope Castiel won’t awake and witness the disgusting display of gratitude and fondness, Crowley cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, which is when the mark on his hand, still stinging from their connection working overtime, begins to glow. It slips from deep dark red to bright light blue and back again, a continuous loop of light that casts interesting shadows across Castiel’s face.

Crowley can sense Castiel’s essence, his presence, or his lack of it.

Castiel’s body is here, laying limp and heavy in Crowley’s lap, but his mind, his consciousness, is somewhere else; gone, floating, drifting in a cosmos Crowley still doesn’t understand even after the centuries he’s spent walking around in it.

“Oh boy. We’re in way over our heads, Wings.” Not that Crowley would ever admit it out loud, but he’d give his left bollock to talk to Bobby bloody Singer, right now. That grizzled old git would know exactly what’s happening, and how to stop it.

Does he want to stop it, does Crowley want to fix what’s happened?

“ **Way** over our heads.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel’s floating, held aloft by warmth and gentle winds that are allowing him to drift high above the clouds. His drained Grace, Crowley’s injuries, their bond, it all means nothing because he’s free.

That freedom doesn’t last long because he suddenly feels a soft tugging just below his navel. It’s not unpleasant and there’s no pain, but it’s insistent, continuous and won’t allow him the peace he was moments ago thoroughly enjoying.

Someone’s nagging at him, pulling him downwards, back into the waking world.

There’s an urgency to the nagging, it’s insistent and irritating, but also, familiar, like he _knows_ who’s asking him to return.

Castiel finds himself sinking, below the clouds where the bluest of skies fades and changes until they’re black and smoke filled.

The Angelic threads of his existence are tugged and tweaked until he’s whole and back inside his own mind, well, Jimmy’s mind. If Jimmy’s in Heaven with his wife, living out his own private ever after, is this mind now Castiel’s? Does it belong solely to the being inhabiting it?

The thought of it is far too complicated for Castiel’s tired brain to comprehend and he lands with a thunk back inside the body he’s been using to navigate earth for the last eight years. A body that by now has already been set alight and burned, back in the _world_ , where his best friends will be mourning and raging against his loss.

Far too complicated.

Through the drowsiness fogging up his higher functions, Castiel can see the silhouette of Crowley, bent low and murmuring sentences of what he probably thinks is comfort and caring.

“Come on, you prissy pain in the arse poncey bastard! If _I_ couldn’t kill you, if Lucifer shoving an Angel blade up your arse didn’t make you **stay** dead, there’s no way some second hand psychic injuries can shuffle you off this mortal coil. Wake up!”

Crowley’s too busy berating Castiel, face twisted into the picture of panic and annoyance, to realise the grogginess that’s come over him doesn’t _belong_ to him. He can sense the Angel’s essence, taste it, it tickles the back of his throat, but he doesn’t see Castiel open his eyes or lift his hand. It’s only when that hand cups his cheek he stops his insistent grumbling. “Oh, you’re here.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Oh, you’re here.”

Crowley doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until Castiel’s chipped fingernails start digging into his cheekbone, but leaning into the gentle contact between them and humming - practically fucking purring - is _not_ a good look for any Demon, let alone the Demon formerly known as the King of Mean.

Even if he is stranded in sodding Purgatory with a half flaccid Angel, and what appears to be a soul bonding curse roping the two of them together, Crowley thinks he needs to man up and start acting like the cruel bastard he really is.

Something about the way Castiel’s looking at him makes Crowley bristle, brings out the sadistic son of a witch in him. There’s a tiny part of him that _knows_ he’s just panicking, freaking out over the fact that for some unknown reason this creature can force his humanity to the fore.

How in the bloody fuck can they be soul bonded? Neither of them have _souls_! Is this thing binding their lack of soul, or their stolen humanity? It’s insanity.

Crowley’s about to yank his face away from Castiel’s hand and start bitching at him for being a giant prissy bitch, when he’s struck by what a complete bloody hypocrite he is.

There’s a slowly drying, inhumanly large pool of blood where Castiel almost _died_. Not the death you get on earth, where there’s always a chance of redemption or resurrection, but actual end-of-everything death. Blackness. Crowley was almost eaten alive and Castiel felt every single second of it, and whatever this thing is that’s decided _they_ belong together, helped them survive.

And before that blood soaked into the dirt, he was raging about Castiel not accepting whatever this is, soul bonding or a curse or what the fuck ever.

He’s a damned hypocrite.

Shaking his head, ever so slightly for fear of bringing Castiel to his senses, Crowley smirks at his own idiocy, and leans down. “You’re alive.”

Castiel watches the mixed emotions playing out across Crowley’s face. Usually he’s capable of concealing whatever he’s feeling, emotions are a thing to be used and abused for his own ends, but right now, the Demon can’t seem to keep his thoughts out of his eyes.

He observes Crowley’s inner monologue as if he can actually hear it, then he realises he _can_.

Not words, not formed sentences such as, “You poncy git, I didn’t want you to die!”, it’s not _angel-radio_ , but there’s an ever rolling, rumbling, changing stream of sensations and feelings battering at the edges of his consciousness.

They sure as hell don’t belong to Castiel, so they must belong to Crowley.

His brand begins to hum, tingle, creating a warmth that spreads down his arm and into his chest. The conflicting emotions - doing a terrible job of hiding behind Crowley’s eyes - create a physical reaction in Castiel, and the tingling heat from his burned hand nudges him into action.

Crowley’s lips are close, close enough that he can scent whiskey on his breath, which is ridiculous because the Demon hasn’t had a fix in weeks, but something about him always screams whiskey. Craig. Good, solid, oaky, and scintillating.

Crowley’s lips hover millimeters away, and Castiel makes a decision that will probably come back to bite him in the ass, but for now, he’s willing to roll with it, finally. Whilst they’re stuck in this place and feeling these inexplicable feelings, a Demon and an Angel, the oddest of odd couples.

The revulsion Castiel used to feel hasn’t exactly been replaced, he still could happily bash Crowley upside the head every time he opens his mouth, but there’s something _more_ there.

Much like most people Castiel encounters think that he’s a single syllable being with no comprehension of the complications that _life_ throws up, most people assume Crowley is wholly and utterly evil, with no humanity left inside him. Underneath the sadism and psychotic behaviour, the blood junkie and the bile filled tirades, there’s a creature who _feels_.

Castiel decides _what the fuck?_

Mentally steeling himself, channeling his best friends who know what it’s like to want something and never quite grasp it, he prepares himself for the regret and recriminations if they _ever_ make it out of this awful place, Castiel cranes his neck and captures Crowley’s lips.

Crowley almost faints. Literally nearly pegs out on top of Castiel. If his heart were beating it would have stopped, because Castiel - the eternally virginal and virtuous - is kissing him. _Really_ kissing him.

A stampeding herd of Rougarou being back up by a horde of Shapeshifters could fall upon them in this moment and neither would raise an eyebrow. They wouldn’t care because finally, _finally_ , the itching stinging irritation of their shared brands has fallen silent.

Left behind is a simple, clean sense of completeness.


	9. Chapter 9

As much as Crowley would absolutely love to get that god awful trench coat off of Castiel and bed down here, they need to move. They’re sitting ducks surrounded by the scent of blood and guts and any monster would be stupid not to make them a meal.

Growling at the thought of having to relinquish his hold on Castiel’s lips, which have _just_ parted, allowing him access to that surprisingly wicked tongue, Crowley pulls back and peers down at the Angel, whose blue eyes look a little lost and a lot confused.

Castiel makes to scramble out of Crowley’s lap, and the Demon has to slam a hand on his shoulder to stop him escaping. “No, Cas, no, keep calm. We just need to find a safer place, that’s all.”

Castiel’s mind is racing, and if his heart could, it would be thumping like a bass drum, but he’s having to fight, hard, against the urge to flee and never look back.

Despite Crowley’s reassurance and irritatingly calm demeanour, Castiel still doesn’t know if he’s just signed over what would be his soul to the most evil Demon ever forged in the fires of Hell. Just because he can kiss, doesn’t mean he can change. And what’s more disturbing is Castiel’s not sure he _wants_ the Demon to turn over a new leaf.

Crowley is Crowley.

Crowley will always be Crowley.

Crowley can feel Castiel’s consternation through the bond, which seems to have opened a pathway between them. Now they’re not fighting it, or not fighting it as much, it’s as if a delicate silver thread is connecting them, and Crowley can _see_ Castiel’s whirling thoughts and terrified confusion.

Clearing his throat and trying not to smirk at Castiel’s discomfort, Crowley shimmies out from under him and stands, then leans down and offers a hand. “Come on, Feathers, let’s get out of here before some beasty decides we’re too good a treat to pass up.”

Castiel eyes the hand like it might bite him, and has to swallow down his urge to laugh when Crowley waggles his fingers in his face. “Fine, but you should know that I still think you are an abomination.”

Crowley grips Castiel’s branded hand with his own and makes note of the heat still emanating out from the contact, and rolls his eyes at the Angel now dusting himself off. “You _love_ the abomination, you can’t deny it!”

Castiel snorts and starts removing his coat.

“Seriously, now you get naked?”

“Moron, your shirt is still ruined and your jacket is, what is it you would say, fucked six ways from Sunday? It is cold, put this on.”

Crowley tries to ignore the almost ethereal singing of his blood as it begins to hum in his veins. It’s not flowing but it is active. Something about Castiel’s small act of kindness cements the bond they’ve just used to defeat death, and Crowley’s almost knocked off his feet by the sense of rightness.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head, forcing all thoughts of charred picket fences surrounding dead gardens in Hell from his head, Crowley slips Castiel’s coat over his shoulders and starts out in the general direction of ‘ _away_ ’. Away from the still stinking crusted pile of their commingled blood. “I don’t know about you, Wings, but I’m about done with this shitty place. We have to find a way home.”

Hands still joined, both actively ignoring that fact, Castiel and Crowley set off at a brisk pace, keeping an ear out for any and all sounds of imminent attack, and are almost blinded by a light so bright is sears their retinas.

“What the fuck?”

“Crowley? Do not let go.”

Neither of them can see anything but bright white lights dancing in front of their eyes, and it’s only the sound of a slow round of applause - the hard, heavy, sarcastic slap of flesh on flesh - that stops them from making a break for it in the opposite direction.

Hands still clasped, fingers squeezing tight, Castiel and Crowley’s vision slowly clears, and all the air leaves both of their lungs as they stare at someone who shouldn’t be anywhere near here, what with her being dead and all.

“You!”

“I - I - I did not mean to -

“Chill out Flutter-Boy, I ain’t here to clear _that_ particular debt.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Not that I’m not immensely bloody happy to see something or someone that doesn’t have drool dripping off it’s snout, but, what _are_ you doing here? I thought wonderboy over here gutted you like a fish.”

Castiel stares at Crowley like he’s a two-headed fairground attraction. “Thank you for _that_ , Crowley!”

Crowley flicks his eyes left and smirks at Castiel. “Welcome, Wings.”

Billie shakes her head and sucks her lips over her teeth before eyeing the Angel and Demon up and down, taking particular note of their still joined hands. “I see you two have gotten yourselves better _acquainted_ since last we met.”

Castiel drops Crowley’s hand like he’s been scorched, and the brand on his palm bites him, hits him with a short sharp burst of pain. Staring at his own hand, Castiel hisses and shakes it, like that will explain the reaction.

Crowley sighs and leans in close to Castiel, ignoring Billie’s knowing grin. “Wings, _Cas_ , haven’t you figured it out yet? This thing,“ He brings his hand up to show the faintly crackling symbol on his own palm, “reacts to our interactions. Try not to get yourself boiled alive, or _me_!”

Billie clears her throat and steps in between the pair of them, forcing a break in contact and a sour look from Crowley. “Now now, boys, no need to have your first domestic in front of little old me, just because you think it would make me happy. Look, I don’t have a single clue **why** but something or someone out there wants you two back in circulation.”

Castiel looks to Crowley over Billie’s shoulder and shakes his head ever so slightly, forestalling whatever sarcastic tirade he was about to let loose.

Crowley slams his mouth shut then pokes his tongue out at Castiel.

“You two are fuckin’ adorable.”

“Shut - “

“ - up!”

Billie spins and opens her arms wide, gesticulating towards the ever-deepening shadows surrounding them. “You two wanna stay here? ‘Cause I’m quite happy to hop on out and leave your asses to fend for themselves, but judgin’ by the stench of death clingin’ to the pair of you, you’ve not been fairin’ so well so far.”

Trying not to sound too eager, Crowley sidles up to Billie and quirks an eyebrow. “Hey, hey, no, let’s not be hasty, huh? So, something thinks we’re the dog’s bollocks and wants us back in the _world_? We’ll try not to let it go to our heads, but, I still want to know how _you_ are alive.”

“All shall be revealed. Now, you two dumbasses want a lift, or not?”


	11. Chapter 11

Crowley’s insides are trying to make a break for freedom. He can feel his entire digestive system being forcibly shoved upwards until he can barely stop himself from gagging and passing out.”Holy SHIT! What was that?!”

Castiel’s fairing no better as he stumbles and lands heavily against Crowley’s shoulder, grabbing onto his - Crowley, and refusing to let go for fear his feet will fly out from underneath him. “That was certainly _interesting_ , Billie.”

The Reaper dusts herself down and rolls her eyes at the over the top reaction the Demon and Angel are having to her teleportation skills. “Dudes, seriously, you’ve both been _zappin’_ all over the universe for centuries. That was not that bad. I don’t know why you didn’t do it in the first place.”

Crowley snarls at Billie and stumbles backwards, landing hard against a handy wall that just happens to stop him sitting on his arse. “If we could have _zapped_ out of PURGATORY don’t you think we would have? I think you just scrambled my innards!”

Castiel heaves down breath after breath, stopping himself from throwing up, and holds a finger up in front of Crowley’s face. “Stop it.” Turning to Billie, Castiel smiles and nods, “Thank you. Now, about these beings who wish us to be - “

“Again, I say, all will be revealed, just try not to get yourselves killed because next time I won’t be so slow to Reap your asses, okay?”

“What about our bodies?”

Billie sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s like watchin’ Bambi learn to walk. These _are_ your bodies. Spirits made flesh. Now fuck off. Say hey to the boys for me.”

With that, she’s gone. A quick click of the fingers, and Castiel and Crowley are left staring at the space she was occupying like it’s going to sprout a portal and suck them back into Purgatory.

It takes a second but Crowley’s evil smirk and deep gravelly chuckle finally filter through Castiel’s still boggled mind, and he realises, with a sinking stomach, that the trip out of Purgatory was nothing compared to what they’re going to have to face.

With his brand tingling and Crowley grinning, Castiel rolls his eyes and takes hold of the Demon’s collar. “Shut up. We are not going to ‘surprise’ Sam and Dean, before you even think about suggesting it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you **mean** lay low? **Lay low**! I’ve never laid low in my entire life or unlife. What makes you think I’m going to start -”

Castiel throws his palms up flat in front of Crowley’s face and offers what he hopes is a conciliatory look. “Crowley, calm down. Sam and Dean will be perfectly happy, if a little confused, to see me. You, _you_ , they will want to kill, on sight. Regardless of the fact you allowed yourself to be obliterated for their plan to work. Dean has never trusted you, Sam even less so. If we arrive together with a brand new minted _bond_ , they will behead first and ask questions later.”

The slight stinging in both their palms alerts Castiel and Crowley to the fine line they’re treading, but Crowley’s not going to take this lying down and Castiel’s at a loss as to how to make him _listen_.

Crowley’s head is going to explode and his hand is stinging like a son of a bitch, but he’s not going to cave on this, not when Castiel’s going to have to try and explain the trip to all points fucked up **and** the _soul-bonding_ , which still makes him want to vomit. Soul bonding, for a Demon and an Angel, it’s preposterous. But, it is what it is, and he’s not going to risk the bumble twins finding a way to reverse it and convincing Castiel that’s the best course of action.

He’s about to say all of this, with far less eloquence and far more curse words, when Castiel closes his eyes and stops dead still.

Crowley can feel Castiel mucking about inside his emotions and he growls but allows the intrusion with minimal fuss.

When Castiel opens his eyes and stares at Crowley like he’s the world’s biggest moron, the Demon almost feels stupid, almost.

Stepping in as close as he can, Castiel slides his hands either side of Crowley’s face and drags his head up, tilting his chin, before taking his lips in a kiss that forces all cohesive thoughts from the Demon’s mind. “Crowley, have I looked for a _fix_? Have I even hinted that I wish to sever whatever this is? No, so stop being a complete bloody idiot, and let me do this my way, please.”

Crowley’s still trying to recapture Castiel’s lips when his words filter through his lust addled thoughts. “ _Stop being a complete bloody idiot_? I’ve had a bad influence on you, Wings. **Fine** , but if they even think about washing that tattoo off your hand I’m going to - “

“I’m not telling them, not yet.”

“Oh, ashamed of me, are you?”

“Oh for fuck sake, Fergus!”

Crowley reels back and takes a swing at Castiel only to find himself kissing carpet as the Angel blinks out and leaves him fuming alone and without anyone to hit.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean’s heart stops. It actually stops.

Standing in front of him and Sammy is Castiel. Complete with ripped to shreds trench coat and mussed up hair, sporting a look on his face that screams of guilt, and many, many stories that need telling.

Dean’s about to throw himself at Castiel, still not sure if he wants to hit, hug or check him for shapeshifter genes, when Sam clears his throat and steps around his brother.

Clinging to Sam’s hip is a boy, no, a teenager, and Castiel instantly knows who it is, can _feel_ it in his bones.

Sam holds a hand in front of Dean’s face, forestalling the bitching and moaning, and hooks his other arm behind his back, forcing Jack to step into Castiel’s line of sight. “Cas, this is Jack. He’s well, he’s - “

Tears fill Castiel’s eyes, and an overwhelming urge to laugh overtakes him; he finds himself reaching out and snatching Jack into a hug hard enough to force all the air from the boy’s lungs. “Jack. Oh, your mother would be so proud. Look at you - you are - “

Jack struggles to breathe but doesn’t pull away, feeling a sense of _home_ that soothes his soul, if he in fact has a soul. Allowing his arms to come up and grip Castiel’s shoulders, Jack’s about to say his name, when he senses something else, some other force invading Castiel’s vessel. “Castiel?”

Pulling back, Castiel looks down at Jack and realises the boy can _feel_ the brand. Panicking and trying to find a way to stop him saying out loud what he’s clearly already worked out, Castiel clears his throat and pushes the boy to one side, hooking an arm around his neck, before grabbing Sam and hugging him, hard. “It is good to be home.”

Dean doesn’t miss Jack’s hesitation and he certainly doesn’t miss Castiel’s _Deer in headlights_ look, but he’s too busy marvelling at the fact his best friend is alive, alive and standing there squishing the crap out of his brother and his charge. “Welcome back, again, Cas.”

Castiel nods and smiles at Dean, then flicks his eyes towards the palm with the symbol burned into it, and thanks whoever’s listening that the glamour is holding, hiding it from his friends’ eyes.

“So, Cas, sorry about the whole funeral pyre thing.”

Castiel nearly falls over laughing, and then he _feels_ Crowley’s presence, his mind, nudging, trying to take a look at what’s happening.

Shaking his head, pretending it’s because he’s amused at Dean’s bad joke, Castiel allows Crowley to poke around in his thoughts.

It’s the first time he’s tried it, but focusing hard on Crowley’s mind, Castiel _thinks_ at him, and hopes the Demon can _hear_ him. **Stay away, for now. I will be back.**.

~~~~~~~~~

Castiel’s laying atop a bed, an actual bed, and his body thinks it’s ceased to be and been whisked away to Heaven. Soft mattress - soft compared to the stone strewn ground in Purgatory - and a set of sheets that don’t smell like violent death.

Definitely heaven.

His eyes are slowly drifting closed when he feels Crowley mentally flicking a fingertip into the side of his brain, and he sighs before blinking out of the Bunker.

Crowley’s sat on a pile of boxes in a back alleyway, legs crossed at the ankles, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes blazing with an anger Castiel’s not seen since the Rougarou hybrid tried to eat him.

“Crowley…”

“Are we having fun playing house with the Winchesters? I see you’ve met our little antichrist, he seems like a nice lad. Shame about his lack of controllable powers and the fact that he _knows_ about us, isn’t it?”

“He does not know about u - fuck, Crowley, **stop**.”

Crowley springs from his pile of crates and lunges at Castiel, wrapping one hand around his throat and shoving him backwards until his shoulders slam up against the grimy, crumbling bricks of the alleyway wall. “Stop, stop? Two days, Wings, two days with no word, and do you have any idea how much this _thing_ hurts when you’re that far away? Warded by all those bloody spells and protective charms and DON’T tell me Jack doesn’t KNOW about us, I _felt_ him probing your head. He knows something!”

Castiel may not need to breathe to stay alive, but he definitely needs to suck down air to talk and he’s struggling against the fingers flexing around his throat. Allowing his powers to come to the fore, his eyes glow deadly blue and he enunciates every single syllable. “I was researching our bond. Jack does not know. He simply knows there is something different about me. Stop overreacting.”

Crowley’s angry, angry enough that the brand on his hand is humming with pent up rage at the being it binds him to, and he’s inches away from  clicking his fingers and seeing if he can chop off a body part on the Angel whose eyes are still pulsing at him. “Castiel, this may have escaped your attention, but I’m not a patient man, nor do I like to share, or be kept in the dark. If you’re researching the bond, you can’t tell me you haven’t tried to find a way to - “

Castiel’s full and mighty power comes bubbling up from somewhere inside and his wings flash bright white in the electric light crackling in the alleyway, before he roars and shoves Crowley backwards.

Head bouncing off the wall, Crowley’s eyes roll about in his skull and he’s assaulted by the tang of ozone emanating off of his _soul-mate_ , and he’s about to try and fight back when Castiel’s lips slam down onto his and he’s lost for all thoughts other than the fact that this creature drives him in-fucking-sane.

Castiel devours Crowley’s mouth, sucks his tongue back and bites down, hard, before swallowing every droplet of blood that bursts from his flesh.

Growling, suckling Crowley’s tongue and lapping at his lips, Castiel keeps eye contact with the Demon and pulls away. “I am not trying to find a way out of the bond. Okay?”

The words are simple enough, but with every one comes a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning that deafens and blinds Crowley until all he can do is nod dumbly and allow the attack on his senses and his mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel blinks back into the Bunker, to his room, and is toppled off his feet by Dean making a running leap and pinning him to the floor.

“Hey Cas, where you been?”

Despite the power still coursing through Castiel’s system, he’s loathe to unleash it on Dean, even though the attack brings out his natural instinct to defend, and he has to make a concerted effort not to blow the older Winchester off the face of the planet.

Gritting his teeth and biting back the gathering storm forming beneath his skin, Castiel clears his throat and smiles at Dean, like he hasn’t just jumped him for no reason. “Hey Dean, just out.”

Dean tilts his head and stares at Castiel, knowing he’s pushing all of his luck, but Sam standing in the corner of the darkened room with an Angel banishing sigil keeps him from backing down. Whatever’s going on with his friend, it worried Jack enough to come to them and tell them, so he’ll risk obliteration, if it means finding the truth.

Sliding his eyes from Castiel’s up to his hand which is laying palm open on the carpet, Dean grips his wrist and whispers a few jumbled words in Aramaic.

Much to Castiel’s horror and Dean’s satisfaction, a symbol appears and the flesh around it reverts to its natural state of charred and puckered. “Fuck, Castiel, what the hell is that?”

Sam, still hovering deadly close to the banishing symbol, peers into the center of the room and tries to make out the etching on his friend’s hand.

Castiel sees when Sam finally figures out _what_ the symbol means, because the intake of breath coming from the darkened corner is one of utter bewilderment.

“Why? Castiel, why?”

Eyes closing in defeat, Castiel shakes Dean off like a flea, and stands.

“Why what, Sammy, what’s he done?”

Dean stands and steps away from Castiel, before pulling an Angel blade from his belt.

Sam moves fast, steps in between Castiel and Dean, holding his hands up and forcing them apart. “Stop, Dean, stop. He didn’t do this,” Turning to Castiel, Sam narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “So, why didn’t you tell us? You were in Purgatory, you came back with absolutely no explanation as to how, and now you’re wearing a bonding brand. Who’s the other half of the bond, Cas?”

Castiel hangs his head and sighs. “Do not react, please.”


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley’s sitting with a large glass of whiskey and the paper spread out on the table in front of him. Still feeling more than slightly uneasy at the idea of _renting_ somewhere to stay off the radar, and not loving the normalcy of it considering his _soul-mate_ is hunkered down in the Bunker with the only two men on the planet who **could** persuade the Angel to try and break the bond.

Sighing to himself and searching out Castiel’s presence, a distinct flavour that always seems to rest at the back of his throat, Crowley can feel his partner’s barely contained annoyance and worry.

He’s about to try and take a sneaky peek at what’s happening when he hears, loud and clear, **Crowley** , and is instantly aware of exactly how fucked he’s about to be. “Oh, shit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Crowley.”

Castiel opens his eyes and watches the scene in front of him unfold, seemingly in slow motion, as Dean launches himself at Castiel only to be stopped mid-air by Sam snatching at his hips and dragging him backwards. Jack comes running into the room at the exact moment Crowley materialises next to the Angel, who’s hand is glowing a ridiculously bright red, and then everything speeds back up to its proper tempo.

Crowley shimmers into existence next to Castiel, and only just avoids being punched in the face by a frothing, snarling Dean who’s barely being held back by Sam.

“ **Crowley**.” Sam’s lip twitches as he struggles to pin Dean to his chest, but he maintains some semblance of calm, even whilst his brother lets loose a string of expletives that none of them have heard before, turning the air a shade of blue..

“Moose, miss me?”

Castiel rolls his eyes and groans before reaching out and slapping Crowley, hard, upside the head. “ **Stop**. Unless you want me to tell Sam to let Dean loose?”

Crowley completely ignores Dean, who’s still trying to reach him, hands forming deadly looking claws and scraping at thin air inches from the Demon’s face. Turning to Castiel he quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t dare. You think this thing,” he raises his hand, which is glowing bright blue, and waves it in Castiel’s face, “hurts when we’re apart or fighting? Imagine what it would do if one of us died!”

Castiel flicks his eyes over Crowley’s shoulder before stepping around the Demon and laying a calming hand on his hip. “Let me talk to them.”

Crowley’s only just keeping a grip on his irritation, Castiel can feel it pulsing against their bond. He’s either going to lose it and attack the Angel, or he’s going to turn and obliterate Dean, who’s now fallen silent and still, but is not so subtly searching the room for weapons.

Castiel opens his mouth to speak but it’s Sam who manages to get through to Dean.

Leaning down and whispering in Dean’s ear, he keeps eye contact with Crowley, completely dismissing Castiel. “Dean. They _died_ trying to save Kelly and Jack, and kill Lucifer. Hear them out. If he even looks like he’s trying to fuck us over, I’ll hold him down whilst you carve our initials into his chest - “

“Flirt, Moose.”

“Crowley, shut up!”

“ - but until then, hear them out.”

Dean sucks in one long deep breath and squares his shoulders, but Sam doesn’t let him go, keeps a decent grip on two belt loops and his waist.

“Talk.”

Castiel tips his eyes to Sam and nods his thanks before turning to Crowley and gripping his wrist. Dragging Crowley forward, Castiel shows the brand on his palm to the boys, as Jack sidles around the edge of the room, away from the Demon whose power is interfering with his own.

Castiel’s hand comes up next to Crowley’s and he begins to talk, to let it all spill out into the open. “Sam, Dean, he saved my life. _We_ ended up in Purgatory. **He** could have let me die, be ripped to pieces by some stinking filthy pack of Vampires, or worse, a hybrid Rougarou, but he did not.”

Dean’s body language changes slightly and Sam knows he can at least relinquish the hold on his waist, but still keeps a finger hooked in the belt loops, just in case. “Carry on.”

“We managed to get loose from them and worked together to finish them off, commingling our powers and - “

Dean steps forward, still attached to Sam by his jeans, but given enough slack to take Castiel’s hand in his and stare at Crowley’s. “This, this happened?”

Sam leans in over Dean’s shoulder and studies the Angel and the Demon’s faces before lowering his eyes to the brands that are still pulsing light and colour into the room. “You’re bonded. You’ve been bonded. You’re so - “

Dean whips around and pins Sam with a look that screams bloody murder. “If you say soul mates I swear I’ll throw up.” Spinning back to Castiel, Dean throws a pleading look at his best friend. “Tell me you can reverse it, remove it, please.”

Castiel feels Crowley’s anger rising before he even flicks an eyelash, and it’s only the Angel stepping in front of the Demon and laying both hands on his shoulders that stops him from clicking his fingers and imploding Dean’s brain. “Stop. You knew they would ask this. I did not say I would agree, did I?”

“Would not AGREE?! Castiel, you have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right? This thing is a - “

Castiel rounds on Dean and keeps him in place with his powers. “Dean, he is a Demon, he is an abomination, but, he is _my_ abomination.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Wings.”

“Shut UP! You just do not know when to be quiet, do you, Crowley? Look, Dean, I believed for so long that there was a higher purpose and meaning, a plan. Chuck may not have been the best designer, but he did prove that there was a design, and an unseen hand guiding us. I _still_ believe that. Crowley and I are _soul-mates_.”

The sound of Dean making exaggerated gagging noises and Sam laughing only just drowns out Jack’s murmured question.

“But, you don’t have souls, do you?”


	15. Chapter 15

The scene playing out in the Bunker’s kitchen is one that Chuck himself would want to take a snapshot of.

Crowley sits with his legs crossed at the ankles and resting atop the table, nursing an extremely full glass of Craig whiskey. Sam and Castiel are playing a game of chess, one which Castiel is losing spectacularly. Dean is teaching Jack how to make a _Sex on the Beach_ cocktail at the counter and every so often throwing slices of lemon at Crowley, who’s remaining stoic and unfazed, except for the rapidly forming twitch in his left eye.

Sam keeps catching Crowley watching Castiel.

If it were simply Crowley’s track record he was going on, Sam would have beaten Dean to trying to destroy the Demon, but as Castiel laid everything out in front of them, the look on Crowley’s face spoke volumes more than the pulsing purplish light as the brands began to glow together, in unison, a mixture of their two essences combined.

It took a full bottle of gut-rot rum and a long hard talking to from Sam to get Dean to promise not to incinerate his best friend’s partner, for now, at least.

_“Dean, come here.”_

_“Sammy, don’t think a good old fashioned fuckin’ is gonna stop me wantin’ to murder that filthy fuckin’ bastard piece of crap.“_

_Sam rolls his eyes and tuts at Dean’s wondrous grasp of a sailor’s vocabulary. “No, come **here**.”_

_Dean looks up at Sam through his lashes and sneers. “What?”_

_Sam smiles wryly and wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders before resting their foreheads together. “We’re the least likely people to **ever** call someone out on their relationship choices, don’t you think?”_

_Dean snorts and refuses to meet Sam’s eyes. “Maybe.”_

_Sam grins at his brother and drops a gentle kiss at his temple. “Castiel and Crowley didn’t choose this. It chose them. Cas isn’t trying to tell us Crowley’s a changed Demon and he’s certainly not making any apologies for his soul mate’s - “_

_“STOP CALLING THEM THAT!”_

_“Okay, fine, his other half’s habits.”_

_Dean shakes his head. “How are they even,” and ignores the urge to throw up by dragging air in through his nose. “ _soul-mates_ , they don’t have **souls**? The kid’s got a point.”_

_Sam smirks at Dean as he tries not to vomit whilst spitting the words out, and tilts his head. “What exactly is a soul, Dean? Some people think it’s the ability to love. Well I’d say Crowley and Castiel have proved they’re perfectly capable of that.”_

_Dean grimaces as his shoulders slump. “Now I really need a shot of something nasty, just to wash _that_ thought away!”_

_“Crowley will undoubtedly try and screw us over again, that’s just who he is, but now, there’s a small amount of Cas’ personality holding him in check. Give them a chance. For me, please?”_

_Dean hates when Sam pulls the _if you loved me_ card, and even if he hasn’t said it, the meaning behind the words is perfectly clear; **Love me, love my Angel friend and his Demon fuck buddy**._

_Dean would rather eat his own left boot, but he’ll refrain from gutting the slimy dick, for now. “The second he steps out of line…”_

_“I’ll hold him down, you can do the fandango on his chest, wearing the Doctor Sexy boots I bought you last Christmas. Now, I do believe you mentioned a good old fashioned fucking.”_

Sam thinks that if Dean can learn to accept Jack, the spawn of Satan himself, then he can learn to live with Crowley’s connection to Castiel, even if he’s going to continually throw his toys out of the pram over it.

“Dude, you can’t move the knight in that direction.”

“This game is infuriating, and so are you, Sam Winchester.”

“Finally, something we agree on.”

Dean enjoys Jack’s screwed up face as he tries the extra strength cocktail he’s just been handed, but he’s still keeping a wary eye on the Demon who’s constantly at Castiel’s side and currently leering at the Angel. “Crowley, if you don’t like us, why are you even here?”

“Squirrel, my beautifully moronic mook, Wings here seems to think we should stick close to you three idiots, sorry Jack, two idiots and a twit in training. And if you want help bringing your _Mama_ out of the alternate dimension, I advise you stop annoying me.”

Sam and Dean are about to let loose a vicious verbal blasting when Jack calmly, slowly, turns towards Crowley and smiles sweetly. “It takes one to know one, King of Cretins. What do we keep you around for anyway, pathetic one liners and bad taste in clothing?”

Dean and Sam’s laughter follows Crowley and Castiel out of the Bunker as the Angel hooks two fingers in the Demon’s collar and blinks them away, before his partner can say something that gets him permanently dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure this is such a good idea, Feathers?” Crowley sits in front of Castiel, hands resting gently on his knees, imploring him with his eyes and everything the bond will allow him to say, not to go through with the idiocy he and the bumble twins have planned. “Seriously, if you think I hated Lucifer before, can you imagine what I’m going to be like if he gets one tainted fingernail anywhere near you?”

Castiel sighs but leans forward and rests his cheek against Crowley’s. “You may be a Demon, I have no qualms about who you are, Crowley, however, rest assured if Lucifer steps within touching distance of me, I know that not only will Sam and Dean stab on sight, but you will do everything you can to decimate him. I am perfectly sure this is a good idea. We need to bring Mary back.”

“Oh yes, because we need another Winchester in the world.”

Castiel channels Crowley’s essence, taps into the very nature of his Demon lover, and brings his hand up to Crowley’s face before flicking him in the eye. “Stop being a big baby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean, Sam, and Jack stand together, hand in hand, surrounding Crowley and Castiel whose fingers are tangled, heads both thrown back, eyes closed.

Murmuring and chanting dangerous sounding incantations, Crowley and Castiel grip each other tight and focus on their bond, on the silver threads- of which there are now many - twisted together and creating a connection that won’t allow itself to be severed.

As Crowley’s entire body goes rigid, Castiel’s true visage threatens to burst free of his vessel. It takes all of their combined strength, plus Dean stepping in close to Crowley and whispering, “Keep him in check,” for them not to allow their _real_ power to implode in on itself.

Sam grips Jack’s hand and steps up next to Castiel. “Now, Jack.”

Gathering all of his strength, Jack bows his head and concentrates on the idea of Mary, whole and human and here, standing in front of her sons, with a smile on her face that speaks of love and gratitude.

As the gathering storm of collected powers and wills force a chemical reaction from the cosmos, a rip in reality appears, severing the dampening barrier between universes.

“So, who do I have to buy a beer for to help me kill that bastard Lucifer, before he takes over this entire damned dimension?”

End - for now!


End file.
